


Progeny

by Ezlebe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Tiger Millicent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezlebe/pseuds/Ezlebe
Summary: “They are capricious and ill-tempered, not meant to be pets,” Ren continues, his patting having caused the ralltiir cub to begin purring, clumsily attempting to curl both paws around Ren’s wrist. “My mother's, Fjalte, once attacked a Senator’s aide after an argument. A prosthetic was needed after he gnawed off their arm.”Hux raises his eyebrows, looking back down at the little beast with some disbelief. “Ah, so this ‘gift’ is meant to kill me.”





	Progeny

**Author's Note:**

> I keep forgetting to clear out my tumblr so here's another tiny thing ([feb 2017 jeez](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com/post/156879536953/i-1000-stole-this-idea-from)) - I have a bunch of millie tiger fics, none connected really, but the one thing that holds them together is they're all like... fun? I HC her as a golden tiger but obvs more sabertooth. This particular story was written after a discussion with Clarice about Pushinka, a dog given to Kennedy by Khrushchev during the Cold War.

“What  _is_  this?” Hux says, leaning over the box and trying to gently drag his finger over a soft ear. The creature looks up at him with yellow eyes as it wakes, practically glowing, “A felinx?”

“Hardly.” 

Hux glances up from the box, wincing and pulling his hand back with a start as a pair needle-like teeth latch onto a finger. Ren seems to have gotten over his sulk in record time, though Hux doubts that the issue of the  _Upsilon_  upgrades will not be so soon forgotten – he’ll probably bring it up again on the bridge in the middle of the day.

“A ralltiir cub,” Ren says, reaching down with a gloved hand into the box, running a pair of fingers down the standout strip of light hair down that cub’s spine. “My mother has one.”  

Hux feels his lips twist into a sneer, “Oh.”

“They are capricious and ill-tempered, not meant to be pets,” Ren continues, his patting having caused the cub to begin purring, clumsily attempting to curl both paws around Ren’s wrist. “Fjalte once attacked a Senator’s aide after they angered my mother. A prosthetic was needed after he gnawed off their arm.”

Hux raises his eyebrows, looking back down at the little beast with some disbelief. “Ah, so this ‘gift’ is meant to kill me.”

“Likely,” Ren says, shifting forward on his feet with what might be an odd peering through the visor. “It is Fjalte’s own progeny.”

Hux nearly drops the crate, leaning away from a questing paw with a low, skeptical noise. He doesn’t think Organa would stoop to setting a bomb in a living creature, but… she is pragmatic. “How can you possibly know that?”

“The note,” Ren says, leaning over and tracing his fingers against a flowy design etched into the crate’s lid, “More than a gift – a peace offering from my own stock.”

“Ah,” Hux says, narrowing his eyes at the mess of whorls and spines of apparent typescript. “I’m sure.”

Ren is quiet for a long moment, dropping his hand back to his side. “It may be meant for me. Not many can read High Alderaanian.”

Hux huffs his agreement, gently dropping the crate to the floor and grabbing the cub itself, hoisting it up to look better. It really is darling little thing, in a tooth and claw, growling to bite sort of way. “You can hardly take care of yourself, let alone a pet. Has she met you?”

Ren shrugs, rubbing under the cub’s chin with a curl of fingers, an odd tilt to his head when he glances up to Hux. “Not really.”

Hux rolls his eyes, never quite eager to deal with Ren in a metaphorical mood. He curls his arms into his chest until Ren’s hand drops, leaving the cub reaching out with oversize paws, though only a moment later it turns to lick with a sandpapery tongue at Hux’s neck, purr lulling into a rumble. It doesn’t seem like the offspring of a creature that could tear off a limb with ease.

“Pets aren’t permitted within the First Order,” he mutters, resisting the urge to give any acknowledgement to the way the cub seems to be settling in to sleep against his chest. It’s very warm, and very soft, but that is exactly the problem; distractions, attachments, wastes of resources, et cetera – they’re all bad for upholding the goal. 

“I’m not bound by regulation,” Ren says, his helmet cocking sideways at an odd angle before righting itself, focused at Hux’s face. The silence grows long and awkward after another few moments, until he looks down to the cub still in Hux’s arms, “It’s staying.”

Hux raises his eyebrows, skeptical, “You’re really taking responsibility for something?”

“No,” Ren says, shoving past and pausing momentarily at the door, not even deigning to turn around as he speaks, “It came to your office.”

* * *

“S-sir?”

Hux closes his eyes for a moment, then looks up from holo feed with a slow inhale. “Yes, Lieutenant?” 

“Lord Ren has arrived in the anterior ship bay,” Mitaka says, diverting his gaze down to his data pad and seeming to wince around the eyes. “And he is fighting with Millicent. Again.”

“The harmless wrestling that beasts of their sort do,” Hux says, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head, watching as his condescension makes Mitaka curl up tighter, “Or  _actual_  fighting, Lieutenant?”

“I um, I don’t know,” Mitaka stutters, lips going tight and blanching, “Sire –  _sir_.”

Hux almost rolls his eyes, reaching for his data pad and easily pulling up the feed with a frustrating sort of muscle memory. He narrows his eyes at the projected display, watching as [Millie ](http://taildom.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/golden-tiger-walks-in-snow.jpg)throws Ren to the ground and starts gnawing on his helmet with snarling, exposed teeth. Ren responds in similar violence, an invisible hand grabbing Millie by the scruff and throwing her to the ground, where she rights herself in an instant with a visible roar just as Ren bodily dives for her. 

It is, admittedly, very difficult to tell the degree of killing intent from either participant. 

Hux watches the grappling for a few more moments before turning to Phasma, doing his best approximation of disinterested, yet frustrated, rather than vaguely intrigued. “The bridge is yours, Captain.”

“Yes, sir,” Phasma says, nodding shortly before returning back to watch the troop movements at her own station. She sends some approximate look just as Hux steps into the lift, her head tilting with what has far been taken as the helmeted version of a smirk, “We’ll be here while you discipline your pets.”

The doors close before Hux can even begin to scold her for undermining him in front of the entire bloody bridge, but he’ll remember it the next time she requests a schedule change. It’ll hardly be more than a petty revenge, but a revenge all the same. He can even assign her to detail with Ren, trodding through dusty and barren planets on a chase after cowardly ghosts.

A slam just near his ear is what greets him at the entrance to the bay, then a heavy body ramming straight into his and knocking him to the cold, unforgiving alusteel floor. He’s not quite winded, and it might bruise a little on the shoulder that hit first, but otherwise the only injury is to his pride, some niggling little thought at the back of his mind insisting he should’ve been able to dodge a beast of little more than muscle and violence going at some breakneck speed. 

Oh, and the ceiling looks appalling in here – covered in black streaks from clumsy pilots and visibly thick with exhaust residue. He’s going to have to get someone up there, and as much as he’d like to make it a particularly moronic adherent of the Dark, it’ll probably be a droid; regulation safety and all.

“General?” A voice comes from literally on top of him, uncharacteristically meek even through the modulation.  

Hux slowly turns his head, catching his own furious reflection in the visor. Ren hasn’t moved since he… fell. How does something like this even happen? It’s not as if Millie has the biological ability to throw anything the size of Ren. 

Millicent seems at a similar loss, pacing back and forth from her usual perch on top of the Upsilon. It is admittedly the first time Ren has even attempted any sort of physical harm, but she shouldn’t be so neutral about it – Hux was the one that raised her from a cub, while Ren only fulfills her mammalian needs for play. She should be at Ren’s throat for vengeance, not taking some cowering retreat to her favorite napping spot.

“Is that blood?” Hux asks, narrowing his eyes to the telltale stains around Millicent’s mouth. He tries to leverage up on his elbows, attempting to get a better look at Ren from helmet to boot – he’s going to need to be a little more stern about putting a stop to this if actual injury is becoming involved. 

“I brought her back a toy,” Ren says, finally rolling off and laying flat next to Hux, helmet clunking against the floor. 

Hux shifts up a little more and settles his palms flat on the ground, heaving a sigh, “A  _toy_.”

“She needs to hunt,” Ren says, “Even if it is some worm she can catch before they even reach the door.”

Hux frowns with realization, looking around for the… Ah, there it is, a crumpled body in an orange jumpsuit, striped lekku splayed over a gruesomely exposed spine. “You realize we’re meant to be interrogating the Resistance, not letting Millie eat them?”

Ren tilts his head, though it’s more of a raised eyebrow than a smirk. “Yeah?”

Hux stares at him for a moment longer, then shoves up from the ground to stand, walking over to the Upsilon with singular goal in mind. He ignores the sidelong stares from a pair of technicians at a cargo shuttle in the next bay, snapping his fingers and pointing to the floor at his side. “Millie, down.  _Now_.” 

Millicent bares her teeth for a moment, a growling sort of whine escaping her throat, then jumps down with a soft thud to his side. She presses her head to Hux’s thigh, pushing hard enough to force him back a step. 

“No,” Hux says, crossing his arms to keep from giving into the reflex to rub at her ears. “I’m not happy with you, either.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Ren says, the loud stomp of his boots sign enough he’s finally stood from the floor. 

“Are you absolutely delusional? You were two cycles late for your return, you fed another enemy agent to my pet, you caused such a scene that it drew my personal attention away from the bridge,” Hux says, turning on his heel and counting off on three fingers, then slowly lifting a fourth, “And then you crushed me.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” Ren says, patently dismissive by the short rush of static in the vocoder betraying a scoff.

Hux lifts his chin, feeling a sneer twist at his lips, “Oh, and is that excuse going to remove the bruises from my back?” 

Ren doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, a few short twitches of his head and a curling of his hands the only reaction. 

“You’re on this ship to do a job, Lord Ren,” Hux says, his own anger quickly spurred on by the complete lack of attempt at an apology. He hardly expected one, but a few moments of remorse would be polite. “I invite you to find your restraint before worse happens.”

Hux suffers the silence for a few minutes longer before steeling his jaw and heading for the lifts. He hopes the relief he feels at the soft sound of Millie’s paws at his side isn’t obvious, nor the thin thread of regret when he catches the subtle slump of Ren’s shoulders as he passes him; it’s not quite the conversation he envisioned having when he came down here, but Ren really needs to act his age.  

* * *

“Report,” Hux barks, flipping through the pair of feeds from Ren’s private medical room. 

“Unidentified toxin, sir,” the med droid says, bringing up a report filled with more unfamiliar terms than Hux would care to admit, then pointing at a scan of Ren’s foot with a metal claw, gesturing near the ankle, “Administered through a projectile into the lower calf and meant for a species roughly a fourth of his weight.”

“Full recovery?” 

“Affirmative – projected two ternary cycles,” the med droid confirms, dropping the display with a short, needless nod. “The toxin nearly destroyed his foot, but we managed to repair it. He will be moved to his personal quarters at stability – projected within current hour.”

“Notify me,” Hux says, closing his own feeds with a pinch of his hand. 

“Yes, sir,” the droid says, giving an affected bow before their holo disappears completely from Hux’s office. 

Hux stares at the empty space for a long, silent moment, then slowly stands, taking his coat from the back of his seat and throwing it over his shoulders. The trip to his personal quarters is only a short lift ride and a few meters of walking, the only difficult part of it being the curious expressions from passing officers and their quickly diverting eyes. 

He opens the door with his code and data pad, a half-hearted lift of his arm before it slides open with a hiss. The inside is quiet and dimly lit, making the pair of bright, prying eyes all the more obvious from the adjacent room. 

“Millicent,” Hux sighs, narrowly watching her roll defiantly to her back on the coverlet; she knows the bed is off-limits. 

He walks over and drags his hand across her chin, careful of the exposed canines protruding passed her jaw. She gives a now predictable chuff low in her throat, trying to grab his hand back in a fearsome paw when he kneels down at the sight of something unfamiliar protruding from just under his bed on the floor. 

“Millie, what is – ?” Hux pauses, pulling harder and realizing he’s holding what can only be Ren’s cape in his hands, only it’s in utter tatters, ripped apart from the bottom and barely half as long. He has absolutely no idea what it’s doing in his quarters, “Where did you get this?”

He startles when it’s yanked out of his grip without warning, Millie growling low in her throat with what seems to be her version of offended. She drags the it to her own little corner adjacent to his bed, draping it into a messy heap over the edge of her makeshift bed of old pillows. A low, painful feeling sinks into Hux’s chest when she presses her forehead to the crumpled pile of cloth, like she’s trying to headbutt it into reacting to her. 

“He’s not dead,” Hux mutters, refusing to feel any sort of guilt over the matter. She’s an oversize felinx, not an actual child, and it’s not as if he told Ren to keep away from her, he simply… heavily implied it. 

All aside, he couldn’t have predicted Ren actually  _listening_  to him. Even though he probably hadn't, really, more a particularly tight mission schedule with little more than time to nearly be killed in most ludicrous manner. 

Hux watches Millie root around for a few moments more, rearranging her makeshift bed, and tips his head at a glint of white. “Oh, I see,” he says, crouching down to inspect another familiar item of clothing in the pile – an old greatcoat, replaced for one-too-many ripped seams from wear. “You’re stealing my clothes as well.”

A low beep pierces the room before Hux can do any more digging, drawing his attention to his data pad.  _‘Transport successful.’_

Well, the med droids are certainly getting efficient, though a glance to the time shows it’s been nearly twenty minutes since he requested the update. He presses the datapad into silence, pocketing it and looking to Millie, who has peeked open her eyes with irritation at her mid-day nap being officially interrupted.

“Come,” Hux says, gesturing with has hand for her to come to his side.

Millie rolls over at the first few words, but doesn’t obey, closing her eyes with the sort of apathy only capable in lower creatures. 

Hux rolls his eyes, walking more demonstrably to the door in the other room, loathe to repeat himself. “Now, Millie.”

Millicent bounds to his side now with a minor look of delight, staring hard at the door for a long moment, then looking up at him for an instant before returning to the door. It’s worrying for a few seconds, and he winces as she bounds out and down the hall without waiting a single moment for Hux to check for onlookers. 

He waits just outside the door and watches as she pauses at the lift, tilting her head back to where Hux is standing, then running down again past him to the other end of the hall, sitting down in front of another door. 

“You’re utterly transparent, even for a beast,” Hux says, walking to said door at a more sedate pace. He eyes the cracked display for a moment before tapping in the override code, standing still for the retinal scan and wincing at an overbright light that has become far too familiar. 

Millie bounds in with absurd excitement as the door slides open, circling the main room for a few seconds before heading into the sleeping quarters. A shout of genuine surprise, then an answering roar from Millie, and Hux already feels incredibly awkward. He had thought he could go in there and say something dismissive, but now he’s looking backward at the door, realizing it would probably be better if he just retrieves Millie in a few hours after whatever sedatives Ren got have rendered him dead to the world. 

“Hux,” Ren says, voice raised and calling before Hux can attempt to take his leave. His tone is off, and it takes Hux a moment to realize it’s because his voice is clear, no cover or false tenor through the modulator. 

“What?” Hux responds, stepping into the door and finding Ren gracelessly lying on the bed – foot propped up on one end, Millie in some sort of headlock on the other. 

Ren frowns after a few moments of mutual staring, a low suspicion manifesting and then disappearing from his eyes. He seems to accept it all the same, the silence of the room losing some of the tension and simply becoming mildly uncomfortable.   

“She stole one of your cloaks,” Hux says, ignoring an urge to go looking for where they’re kept; he’s certain the closet is in utter disarray, and he doesn’t need that compulsion to tidy surfacing in Ren’s quarters of all places. “And an old coat of mine. She’s torn them to pieces and is sleeping with them.”

“Okay,” Ren says, seemingly disinterested in the systematic destruction of his wardrobe. “She can’t be nesting; I don’t see the problem.”

“Not unless that med droid is incompetent,” Hux says, narrowing his eyes and watching Millie play at trapping a stray corner of coverlet under her paw. He’s not noticed any other potential signs, but his education on galactic biology is hardly comprehensive.

Ren scoffs under his breath, a condescending look crossing his face, “Or you have another ralltiir?”

“The same med droid also told me you near lost your foot to a  _teddy bear_?” Hux says, crossing his arms with a quick flash of heat behind his ears. It appears Ren has forgotten the row in the ship bay, so all in all, mission accomplished on that front. “What’s your witty rejoinder to that?”

Ren shakes his head, shoving his face into the thick fur on Millie’s neck and muffling his voice by consequence, “Lucky shot.”

Hux watches for a few seconds, then sighs softly and takes a few steps closer to the bed despite his better judgement. He gestures at the exposed ankle, knowing Ren will have seen it for all he's not looking. "We'll have to get you thicker boots." 

Ren mumbles presumed agreement, or sulking insult, followed by a preternatural tap at the base of Hux's spine.

"No," Hux says, leaning back onto a heel, ready to twist backward on the other should another, heavier attempt recur. He doesn't anticipate the grab at his tunic by the sleeve, nor for it to be by a pair of blessedly gentle teeth that pull him forward with a jerk.

"Millicent," Hux scolds, tugging back, though that only seems to be encouragement by the playful growl she offers through her teeth. "Let _go_."

Millie scrambles back to pull harder, joined by an overlarge and decidedly human hand at his waist, dragging him onto the bed. He tries to push off for a requisite moment, then gives up entirely, letting himself be deemed a pillow as a pair of beasts settle against him with considerable weight. 

Hux waits a beat before letting his hand drop to Millie's head, sweeping his fingers across her stripes with a tight turn of his wrist. "Did you mindtrick my cat, Ren?"

"No," Ren says, his breath a soft pressure when his head burrows into Hux's collarbone. "She is clever enough without my help."

* * *

It’s the short hairs sticking up at the back of Finn’s neck, the subtle muting of extraneous noise that warns him first, years of drills kicking in and screaming at him to turn around before the worst can happen. He spins on his heel, stopping Poe with a hand on his arm, and that’s when he sees it – a ralltiir. It’s walking a few steps behind them, slow and grey around the muzzle, but still zeroed in on them with glowing eyes.

“Oh, that’s Fjalte,” Poe says, kneeling down and holding a hand forward, outright welcoming the overlarge predator to rub up against his palm like a kitten. “He looks scary, but he’s just a big softy.”

“General Hux has one of those,” Finn says, still glancing at exits and calculating the quickest, most subtle way to get to any one of them. He likes Poe, but Finn has had his own run-ins with ralltiir. “ _Millicent_.”

“Shouldn’t you say Kylo Ren has one?” General Organa says, appearing from the same direction Fjalte must have come, holding a disconnected lead that she folds into a pocket at her belt. 

“No,” Finn says, leaning a few centimeters further back from Fjalte. He glances up in the ensuing quiet to see a perturbed look on the General Organa’s face, realizing she must be waiting for something more substantial. “I mean, sort of, ma’am, but I think the General would be… angry to hear anyone call her Lord Ren’s pet. There is a rumor that Lord Ren gave her to him, but – well, it’s hard to believe.”

“Ah,” Organa says, an odd emotion settling around her eyes. 

“Lord Ren does like to let spies go when he’s done and let her catch them on the ship,” Finn continues, gesturing awkwardly in the shape of the Finalizer, remembering a few of the more memorable chases with nausea low in his stomach. “The only time I ever saw her was at the emergency clinic on level seventeen when she came in looking for one. She was so big, and had these giant – wait, where are  _his_  teeth?”

“They’re usually removed and replaced with small artificial ones when they’re just growing in,” Organa says, looking down at Fjalte and running a pair of fingers through the standout hair at his back. “It helps calm their instincts. To leave them in is… a very risky choice.”

“Sorry, can we go back to the part where I was going to be eaten alive for  _fun_?” Poe says, speaking slowly and raising his brows with no little disbelief. “Is that what you’re seriously saying?”

“Oh,” Finn intones, feeling his eyes widen at the epiphany. He hadn’t even thought about anything aside from getting off the ship, getting away from the First Order. “I can’t believe we got out – no one  _ever_  escapes from Millie.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can also be found on the [twitters](https://twitter.com/ezlebe?lang=en) and lesser so on [ tumblr](http://ezlebe.tumblr.com) at Ezlebe


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